Dictum Factum
What is said is done.
“Paddy! Paddy!”
His hands were so small, so chubby and small. Sirius had looked into that baby's wrinkly face for the first time and he had cried, inconsolable that James couldn't take that child away from him. Lily didn't even fault him, letting him hold the baby for as long as he could until he had passed out on a chair. But Sirius can never forget his baby's crying, his shrill little voice, and how his first words had been star.
Harry was the only child Sirius ever acknowledged as his own. His baby, his boy. The little boy he sang lullabies too when James and Lily were exhausted from his crying and whining. The little boy that had babbled and reached for his hair, giggling as he tugged.
“Staw… staw!” Baby Harry babbled, biting on a toy as he pointed at the plush toy of a star. He had heard the word so many times from Sirius' lullabies and all the little endearments his godfather called him. Little star, sweet aster. Sirius had doted on him so much and paid so much attention.
He was a baby, so full of innocence and love as he ignored the toy and turned to the adults that awed and stared at him like he was the second-coming of Merlin. And Harry had smiled.
He pointed his chubby little fingers at Sirius and giggled, “Staw!” He said.
That day, Sirius vowed that this boy would be his. If the world would not bend to Harry's will then he would make it so.
The day Harry was taken from him, ripped away from the life they could have had as Sirius rotted in Azkaban, was the day Sirius Black slowly died.
Hearing of Harry's return felt like a fantasy, like he had eaten the lotus that was in the legends of the Odyssey and was incencesed into a euphoric state of delirium. Snape's words felt like taunting knives that stabbed his heart over and over again. Because Severus Snape had always lied to him, always hated him for what they did in their youth. A part of Sirius thinks it was well deserved but knowing that his precious baby had gone through the same thing felt like a karmic debt had been struck upon his child rather than him.
His first instinct had been to attack Snape, to maul him with his animals form but he had been held back as much as possible. Because his baby boy was in the country and he didn't need to be sent back to Azkaban.
Course, Gaunt had ordered him and the rest to stay put. Had it not been for Harry, he would have defected immediately. But he had made his bed, shook hands with the devil all for Harry's sake. James and Lily's murderer seemed like a better option than Dumbledore now, not after what he's done to his boy. He never expected for such a day to come but here he was, glowering in Grimmauld place as Kreacher incessantly reported about his grandfather and great aunt's decisions regarding the next soirees for Yule.
His thoughts were quick to drift away from the ball, immediately latching on to the fact that Harry's time in Britain was limited. His boy had left for a reason and Sirius was willing to do anything to understand why. Had it been the Dark Lord? But that couldn't be, not after that vow and dose of veritaserum before Sirius became some faux Death Eater. Had it been Dumbledore? That felt reasonable after everything he's done to Harry. Had it been everyone and everything? Gods, it drowned him in guilt that even liquor couldn't sway away.
There's a sudden sound of a crack and Sirius can barely look up to notice Narcissa had marched into his study, looking as stern as usual.
“Cousin.”
“Cissa…”
Narcissa was only two years older than him, she had been a third year when he was first. She was the closest one in age to him aside from Regulus. But, he wasn't as close to her as he was with Bellatrix when they were children. Narcissa had always gotten along with Reggie more, while Bella and him understood each other from the madness as the first borns. They were the eldest children of their prospective parents, born with a burden on their shoulders to meet the expectations of their house.
Bellatrix was the only one who fulfilled those expectations.
“What do I owe the pleasure, cousin dear?” he grins, pressing the glass to his lips as he tilts the liquor down his throat. Narcissa's piercing gaze is as venomous as always, looking at him—scrutinising him. He's a drunken fool, drowning his sorrows with as much alcohol as he can and it's fails every single time.
“Barty has returned.”
“And? Thought he arrived on Sunday…” It was already Tuesday.
“Our lord had sent him out on another mission upon his arrival.” Narcissa sighs, flicking her wand to move the glass away from his hand. “It involves your heir.”
His eyes snapped towards her. It reminds Sirius that for all Narcissa looked as a Rosier, she had the eyes of a Black. She didn't have the pitch black hair like Bellatrix, nor did she have the sharper features of Andromeda. She seemed softer, blonde hair that used to be more like honey than it was platinum. But the silver of her eyes reminded everyone that she had been Narcissa Black before she was Lady Malfoy.
“Make haste, cousin.” Narcissa smiles, small and gentle as she looked cruel. But she was kind in her own ways, stepping towards him, taking his hand and pulling him up.
He remembers a time when she had done the exact same thing when he tripped in the gardens of their manor, bawling his eyes out as his knees bled from the scrapes while Bellatrix giggled at his sniffling. It had been Narcissa to pull him back up and tell him everything was alright.
She's a kinder guide than Bellatrix ever was. Narcissa had not been named after a star. She was like Lily—a flower. Delicate, beautiful, valuable. She was sought after as the flower of house Black for many years and then she had married Malfoy for all people. Sirius doesn't want to hate her, it's hard to do that when it was her who healed his scratches and the bruises from his mother, when it was Narcissa who mended Reggie's reddened arms and wiped his tears.
“Slytherin Manor!” She says, tossing the green powder of floo into the fireplace. She vanishes into the green flames.
Reluctantly, Sirius follows and finds himself in the foyer of Gaunt’s estate. It's an archaic sight, stringed with snake statues stuck to walls and deep emerald curtains to hide the room from the light. Narcissa takes it upon herself to mutter spells as the curtains tie themselves into near sections, letting some light leak into the dreary space.
Once again, he finds himself walking down the familiar path to Gaunt's study. His most loyal followers—and Sirius—are gathered there. Lucius, Snape, Narcissa, Antonin Dolohov, and last but most certainly not the least, Bartemius Crouch jr.
They gathered there, apprehensive and remained standing until Gaunt allowed them to sit.
Barty takes the floor, looking nervous before his expressions are quickly schooled into professionalism. There were files in his hands, an entire stack of them. It baffles Sirius how quickly Barty gathers information, like he knew an oasis of it and simply took a flask and filled it up.
“Barty, begin.” Gaunt lazily gestures, permitting Barty to speak. It felt like they were in a court room.
“Right… The objective: Harry James Potter. He inherited the Peverell Lordship at fifteen and changed his name to Hyperion James Peverell. Residence unknown but is suspected to have lived in Russia after the revelation that he has been studying in Durmstrang for the past two years. His social status is still unknown but the name Peverell has been mentioned on numerous accounts and some articles as a contributor and benefactor to numerous organisations.” Barty flips through the files, grumbling before he takes out his wands and floats the folders around him. A newspaper is taken out of the folders, revealing it to them where he had highlighted the name Peverell with a bright red marker.
“Though his status in society is unknown, his academic status has made him notorious and infamous.”
“How so?” Lucius asks, curious just as everyone else was.
“Well… I was only able to get this information after interrogating some recent alumni of Durmstrang.” Barty shifts uncomfortable, a strange gleam in his eyes as he awed at the file in his hands. What the hell has Harry been doing to impress Barty of all people? “Durmstrang has around nine core subjects and twelve electives available to the students.”
Well, Sirius surely thought that wide of a range was impressive. Hogwarts only had 7 core subjects and 6 electives to choose from by third year. Admittedly, the entire curriculum was damningly restricted and limited, making the options for certain occupations in Britain rather small. Either be a ministry worker, start your own business, or go abroad for further studying to become a master at crafts.
“The average amount of electives a student typically takes is two-to-three. Katerina Morozova is currently known as the person to have the most subjects, going for three electives and making it twelve subjects by the time she graduated.” Barty mutters, before turning to Sirius with a scrutinising look. The bastard was clearly judging him, making numerous comparisons that were obviously meant to insult him. “Your godson surpassed his mentor by choosing five electives the moment he transferred. Peverell has managed to successfully juggle fourteen subjects since his fifth year.”
Yeah… yeah that did not sound right.
“I beg your fucking pardon?”
“Language, Sirius.” Narcissa chides, pinching him but staring at Barty in bewilderment.
“That's impossible. Harry Potter had average grafes—if not slightly better than that of a typical student. His only best subject was Defence and even then…” Snap quickly retorts and Sirius is overcome with the urge to strangle the motherfucker.
How dare he belittle his precious boy when even Barty was clearly in awe with how impressive Harry has become.
“Well something must have changed because he's not an underachieving student. The complete opposite to be honest. He's managed to snag first place of nine subject rankings.” Barty hums, unable to suppress a grin forming on his face. “He's brilliant!”
“Barty.” Gaunt raises a brow, looking fairly perturbed and amused. “Continue.”
“Right… right! Magne Lovdahl is only a year Peverell's senior and was there to witness the two years in which Peverell was in Durmstrang. He summarised Hyperion Peverell's arrival into one word: maelstrom.”
Well wasn't that ominous. An alumnus of Durmstrang describing his little son as a violent whirlpool. It felt so strange to think of Harry that way—that meek boy who was so eager to stay hidden and away from the eyes of the public.
“I think we need more elaboration of that.” Sirius drawls, earning himself a glare from Barty.
“I was getting to that. Anyways… Lovdahl says that the day Hyperion Peverell transferred to Durmstrang, everyone knew he was either valuable or dangerous—drew everyone in like a maelstrom. That boy didn't waste time and went straight to gathering himself a little group. The runts of Durmstrang were his targets, usually other Brits. Aurelia Fawley, Genevieve Morganach, Theseus Rowle, Cecilia Vance, and the other transferee—Theo Nott. He managed to fling those students to higher ranks in the student hierarchy—methods are still unknown.”
“Those are the students who volunteered for the interview.” Snape mutters, crossing his arm over his chest and narrowing his eyes. “Fawley is assigned to me. The girl is, evidently, superb at potions. Better than any of my students—yes Lucius, even Draco. But she's talkative and repetitively mentions Potter.”
“Yes, Lovdahl mentioned that. Fawley, Peverell, and Nott were never seen without one another until Nott unexpectedly transferred back.” Barty flips through his notes again, “Well, Peverell and Fawley are often paired up during potions. Those two were the best of their year, Fawley at first and Peverell being second.”
“Why in Morgana's tits couldn't he be this good while he was my student?”
Sirius snorts as he heard Snape mutter such frustrations. For now, he was ever so proud of his godson's achievements.
“Back to the topic at hand… er… From Lovdahl’s time in Durmstrang while Peverell was present, there had been a unprecedented change. Admittedly, the word mudblood—or variations of it—is commonly used amongst the pureblood population. After Peverell, it's apparently become a taboo.”
Sirius chokes on his saliva, blinking in surprise. “What? I mean… I can see Harry managing to make people stop saying the word around him but to make it an entire taboo?”
Barty nods, impressed and looking fairly wary. “Peverell is good friends with almost the entire halfblood population of Durmstrang. They were admittedly at a lower section of the hierarchy due to how they were raised, but somehow, Peverell had rallied them to his side. Lovdahl wasn't willing to speak too much about the consequences of being caught saying that word. But he did imply that some students were silenced in more… practical ways.”
By practical, he must have meant being targeted by numerous students. The mere thought of Harry—his baby star—had recruited halfbloods of Durmstrang to practically stage a revolution against purebloods felt in character and not. He had a heroic streak, true, but he hated the spotlight. Goodness, his boy's kindness extended even to different countries. It was utterly brilliant.
“That's all I have for now. Lovdahl was difficult to persuade but even he gave vague information. The greatest source would be the teachers… or Peverell's friends.”
Lucius sniffs indignantly, “Theodore Nott. That boy is strange. I'm quite sure he had a hand in the delay of Thaddeus’ trial.”
“Why wouldn't he?” Dolohov snorts, “The bastard killed his mother right in front of him.”
“But still—”
“Malfoy, I may have tolerated Thaddeus Nott back then but even I was ecstatic when I found out he was chucked into Azkaban. I'm quite sure Adrik’s already told the boy that it had been our faction who called for a trial. He's not going to help the people trying to free his bastard father.” Dolohov scoffs, gesturing towards Lucius like he was a speck of dust.
“Make your little scion try to befriend him. Last I saw, Draco was particularly snappy towards Nott.”
One: Sirius had absolutely no idea what the hell they were talking about. Except for the case issue. He had heard about the murder when Nott was promptly dragged into Azkaban, screaming his head off about how it was well deserved. He was the epitome of a scumbag, to be honest. He's quite adamant to defect from Gaunt about that and vote against proclaiming that rotten bastard as innocent.
Two: his darling godson has made so many friends! Harry must have developed amazingly without Dumbledore breathing down his neck. Oh that would have been wonderful to watch! His precious Harry grew into such a charismatic and bright person.
He couldn't wait to see Harry
The fundamental aspect in which Magic is perceived to have moral standards are the actions of those that use it. Throughout history, perceptions of magic have shifted from negative to positive and negative once again. It is a never ending cycle just as society changes. Just as people change, magic follows with every shift of society.
Morality is neither black or white, it is an intersection of both creating grey. Magic, as a concept itself, is classified by dark or light, oftentimes the classification is influenced by human morals (Szekeres, 1981). With this in mind, it can be said that so long as humans have morals, Magic itself has morals as well.
According to Black, L. V., et al (1965), the system in which Magic is classified within European regions has changed approximately three times. The continent followed the Intent vs. Emotions theory that dates back to the times of Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred until 1231. After 1231, western Europe began to follow the variation of the Intent vs. Emotions theory. By 1567, different regions applied fundamentally different theories to categorise magic (e.g.: elementalism vs. flesh and mind, magic type theory, natural.magic theory…)
However, the shifts in which Magic is perceived can be changed by the influence of a single person within history…
He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes as he chews on his pen—yes pen because fuck quills. Never mind.
His usage of muggle products wasn't the issue at this point. No. Harry's crisis lies in the fact that he had the introduction of his research paper down, but something felt off. There was something missing in the opening of his research paper, leaving him horrendously unsatisfied.
Classes were out for the next period—something about a new procedure that was implemented just the year before. He didn't particularly care about the procedures. He was too stressed about his limited sources of information with how meagre the Hogwarts library was. Either he went home or ran off back to Durmstrang to get scolded by Katya for leaving his temporary post in Hogwarts. It was the second day of teaching—after tomorrow he could finally go back.
Tossing his paper to the side, he grabs his notes, muttering curses under his breath as he searches for adequate sources to cite. Supporting this study was viral for him.
“Have you picked a research title?”
Harry blinks, throwing his head back to see Aurelia and Genevieve looking more haggard than he's ever seen. They were usually elegant and well kept girls, but Hogwarts seemed to affect them in the worst ways possible.
“Yeah. I already submitted the first chapter of my Dark studies and Transfiguration research. POM and Arcane studies are the only ones I haven't submitted yet.” He admits, sounding too disgruntled for his liking. “Professor Tasev approved of my title before summer so I've been working on the draft for the summer.”
“You're overworking again.” Genevieve mutters, sitting on the desk just as Harry moved some of his belongings to the side.
“I'm bored. I have nothing to do here!” He threw his hands up in the air, utterly exasperated by the mundanity of Hogwarts. It was so strange to relate the word mundane to Hogwarts after years of adventuring through its halls.
“Mhm. Anyways, we got a letter.” Aurelia whips out an envelope with a wax seal. The stamped lily emblazoned upon it had Harry grinning, gesturing for her to hand over the letter. But, cheeky as she was, Aurelia merely stuck her tongue out and ripped the letter open. “Oh! It's from Eisenberg.”
“Which one?”
“Bastian.” Aurelia contemplates softly, promptly taking a seat on one of the desks as she skimmed through the letter. “Says that everything is still in order, except for a third year deciding that since you weren't present, calling others his age mudbloods was a good idea. Poor thing. Truly ignorant really.”
Genevieve sighs, “Did the other third years do something?”
“Well, didn't send the little shit to the infirmary but he's been traumatised after his arachnophobia was weaponised against him.” Aurelia snorts, crossing her legs as she grins. “Apparently, the youngest Eisenberg was the nutter that locked th kid into a closet filled with spiders.” She cackles, grinning like a proper maniac as her legs swung and swayed. She met eyes with Hadrian, who observes her curiously.
Sure! He wasn't particularly keen on returning to Durmstrang while it was dissaray from unruly little shits like that, but it would beat the mundanity he was going through now. He might actually die of boredom at this rate.
He glances back at his paper, clicking his tongue as he scribbles on his notebook.
- Regional perceptions of magic by Cheong B.
- Changes of magical systems in Asia by Martinez P. S.
Evolution of Morality by Joyce, R.- Relationship of human beliefs and magic systems by Harinath, N.
“None of the books I need are in the Hogwarts library. The only one I found that suites my study is this—” He tosses Genevieve the book, more displeased than ever.
“‘The history of the British magical system’ by Esmeralda Montgomery.” Genevieve hums, lifting the book up from it's cover like it was something filthy. “Is it accurate?”
“Barely. It's too subjective—the author doesn't even hide that she's biased by painting light magic like it's something holy.” Harry groans, running his fingers through his hair. He missed Durmstrang, he missed his mansion, he missed his sister! Gods, everything felt horrible here. “Gah! I can't take it anymore. I'm going to look for Ron.”
“Ronald Weasley?” Aurelia perks up, eyes sparkling. “Hey! You promised to introduce me to him.”
Harry waved her off, “Sure, sure. C’mon, I'm sure that their procedure thingy is done.”
“It's a medical examination from what I've heard.” Genevieve helpfully explains, removing herself from the desk as well.
He paused, blinking as he turns towards her with a quizzical look. “What?”
“Hm… Lord Gaunt had advocated for physical examinations of students, claiming that the children's safety was essential. Since the exams started, a fourth of the Hogwarts population were found to be victims of domestic abuse. Half of that population were muggleborns.” Genevieve explains, “I heard it from Cecilia—who has already ran through the rumour mill to get us some information. Those students, especially the younger ones, are currently in the process of being removed from their unsafe homes and will be fostered.”
“Seriously?” Harry whispers, unable to look away from Genevieve.
Identifying victims of abuse. Taking action and removing them from the danger. Making sure they were safe.
A laugh erupted from his throat, doubling over.
Ridiculous!
Where the fuck was this when he was still a damn student?
Damn everyone and everything!
Dumbledore, that utter bastard. To think it was Marvolo fucking Gaunt who was making sure that children were safe instead of the holier than thou headmaster. What a fucking joke!
“Riiiight!” He drawls, rolling his eyes before promptly exiting the classroom. He needed to find Ron. Perhaps he'll be entertained then.
As he passed by students and through halls, he garnered many curious gazes. Though the excited and wondrous looks of first years were softly welcomed by a placid smile before he walked past them like they were mere ghosts in the hall. There some disdainful gazes—specifically from Gryffindor—but he returned them with whatever menacing smile he could muster. Theo always did say that Harry's smile was more of a warning than a pleasantry.
Contrary to what he believed, Ron was apparently very hard to find.
First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, why the fuck were people telling him to ask Zabini for Ron's location? To be fair, he knew that Ron had a strange interest in the boy (from the numerous letters of him either complaining or praising Blaise Zabini) but he wasn't expecting this.
Most students seemed to come the same direction, the hospital wing since the physical examinations were done there. Madame Pomphrey must have her work cut out for her since this exam seemed to be done once a month for the entire school year. It was reasonable to be honest but it also showed the high rates of abuse victims in Hogwarts. Even Durmstrang had their physical exams but those were conducted approximately four times for safety purposes and academic reasons. Mostly because duelling and combat lessons required strict supervision on the physique and physical state of a student.
If this was done alphabetically then Ron was rightfully fucked as a seventh year who's surname started with W. The hospital wing would be his best bet at this point.
Well, Harry could think of more efficient ways for the physical exams to go. Like segregating students by gender. Male teacher with male students, female teachers with female students—with Madam Pomfrey attending to both as the only healer of the school. Okay, that was also pretty stupid. Hundreds of students and only one healer? Yeah, he felt pretty bad for her.
He found himself in the hospital wing, where students were waiting for their turn. The hall outside was horrifically crowded and seeing that most looked like fourteen-year-olds, he supposed that the fourth years were examined next. No seventh years in sight. If the schedules aligned then fifth and up would have their examinations the next day. No Ron there.
The tower? Nope, not there either.
The quidditch pitch? Seriously, he only found Ginny, who saw him. Then proceeded to land. Then proceed to hold her broom like a weapon. Then proceeded to chase after him until he took a sharp corner and mix into the crowd.
The great hall? Nyet.
Professor McGonagall?
“Ask Blaise Zabini, Mr. Potter—I… apologies, I meant—”
“Call me Hyperion. Or Harry!” He smiles at the aging old witch, watching her stern features soften. “Honestly, I wouldn't mind since it's you.”
“Harry, then.” McGonagall smiles softly, before she clears her throat and her strictness returns. “Ronald is either with Mister Thomas and Mister Finnigan, or he is accompanying Mister Zabini. Since the two are currently out in the pitch, I suggest looking for Zabini.”
“Right, right!” Harry grins, pressing a kiss to her cheek before running of like his life depended on it. “Thanks Minnie! Love yah!”
Well, apparently, Zabini was the best choice. Why? Because Harry found Ron with the boy in question.
The two were caught up in a rather deep conversation that led Harry to yo easily sneaking up on Ron.
“Won-Won!”
Ron yelps, instinctively swinging his arm and almost hitting Harry.
“Woah! Your reflexes have gotten better!” Harry grins, catching Ron's fist and tilting his head to the side. “I see you're with a friend. Am I interrupting? Should I go?”
“What? NO! no…” Ron clears his throat, a lopsided grin gracing his countenance. “It's nothing too important. Right, Blaise?”
“Right…” Zabini mutters, meeting Harry's gaze.
He smiles pleasantly ay the other boy and he mirrors it. Ah, Slytherin decorum of being fake little shits. Well, he had to applaud Zabini for looking so friendly, especially with Ron beside him. It enhanced the appeal of a friendly Slytherin. How quaint.
“Well, anyways—” Harry immediately says, dismissing Zabini all together. “Aurelia really—really wants to meet you. It I don't haul your ass to her, she might sick the dragons in me once we get back to Durmstrang.”
“There are dragons in Durmstrang?”
Harry scoffs, grabbing Ron's arm. “Course there are. You won't mind me stealing him away, won't you? Ronnie and I haven't seen each other in centuries! You get it, don't you?”
Zabini smiles, pinched and clearly irritated by Harry's insistance. It was a funny sight to see such a charming boy look so horrendously pissed. Even when it was hidden by smiles and flowery words. Kinda cute, to be honest, but Harry insists that the boy wasn't much his type. He liked them older.
“No, no. I wouldn't mind. Ron speake it you—a lot. I could never stop him from reuniting with his best friend.” Zabini grits out, still smiling.
“Good… I'm glad you know you're place.” Harry chuckles, before pulling Ron away from the boy. “Now…Aurea mea is surely torturing poor Vivi by whining about you.”
“You sure Fawley will like me?”
“Oh, my dearest! She adores you!”
Harry's grin widens, twirling Ron around the crowded hall like they were performing a waltz. Evading pushy students, tilting his body just enough to avoid bumping into someone. He relished in the adrenaline from such a simple yet extravagant act. It left him laughing so loudly that people stopped to stare.
“I swear it, dearest. Even Hermione agrees that she would adore you.”